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Literature
Untitled
SpeakEasy, somewhere in exploded Euro City.
Biotech and Minimalist impression;  a nouveau, and nouveau riche, tangent impression of some college Nietzsche ideal of Brecht. It bleeds light like a stuck pig, but all in reds, whites and blacks.
The drink glasses clink and crash. The speakers pump a rib-cage rattling thump.
Mackie reclines, lanky and proportionate, at a tiny drink table in deep club shadow, presented in a perfect, utterly immaculate black tux tasting of the early 1900s. His faded blond hair greased just enough to give his thin skull its perfect shape. His pale blue eyes, easy and seemingly dependent on the pleasurable thrill of a living archaic tribute to an era lost in the annals of history, give smoldering and skeptical impressions. A diminutive smile on crooked lips, he sweeps the club crowd panorama with leisure. Decorative, delicate hands in stuck artist's poses, angled just right in the silhouettes of painfully bright strobes of artificial light.
There have been
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Michael Hubbard rip my friend by RUNNrabbitRUNN Michael Hubbard rip my friend :iconrunnrabbitrunn:RUNNrabbitRUNN 1 3
Literature
storm
the storm's a comin.
i'll be hapy when I wake,
somewhere,
and rain is pouring down
to sweep clean the street.
time does not heal.
i miss the missing, therefore i Am.
so the ground does weap,
and with sadness hidden
behind dreadful weather,
swept under,
the disparate fall
beneath the spell.
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Literature
rain, now
bloody hell just let it rain for fuck's sake.
..i'm tired of the anticipation,
i'm tired of the fires;
i'm sick of the dreadnaught
the dust inspires;
i've spent long enough
time jailed in the desert...
it's the dead fish in the salton sea,
it's the time spent remembering,
it's some kind of fleshless enemy,
a boneyard in the barren sea;
i only recall the rust on my tongue,
a defiance of age,
the coldness of loneliness,
the impertinence of rage,
the truth of history,
the lies in the collective,
the one true evil
cupped lovingly in god's hand
...how hell has devoid earth,
how man as disgraced love,
how life has become so cheap,
how land now suffers eternal thirst...
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Literature
nightmares vol. 1
His palm is against her forehead, for a long time. “Am I running a fever again?” No response.
She lifts her head above the dashboard and squints at the gray brightness of day. Uncertain of what she sees.
There’s a thick fog all around. Throws everything into fuzz, a myriad of vague forms and figures. Hard to see much of anything. Not without staring with deep concentration.
She pushes herself up and tries hard to make out where they are.
Some long expanse of asphalt rolling out before them. But not like a road. Almost like it, but definitely not.
In the distance indistinct in the mist, a tall cylindrical building, windows all around at the top, shattered and blown out.
Either side of the asphalt, on dead yellow grass, there are large things, metallic pieces of rust.
A word comes to her mind when she looks at one: fuselage.
This is an abandoned runway. This is a boneyard. A place where only the shells of war aviation exist.
There is no life here. Remnants of lif
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Literature
for Michael Hubbard
Wakeful dreams of fleshless giants
Glinting in summer sunset.
From great manmade sleek beasts above,
Business as usual below,
World without end.
Children pirouetting
Through diamonds of rain in
A solitary sparse wave,
Defying gravity,
Steaming black asphalt.
Shadow boxes and displays giving sentiment
To sometimes wordless poems.
Memory and meaning;
Music and movement.
Wholeness, oneness, perfection.
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Literature
Hi My Name Is Depression
Hi! My name is Depression.
I will follow you throughout your whole entire life.
I will pop up at inopportune moments.
I will ruin everything you love in one way or another.
I will destroy you.
You will swallow fistfuls of pills to kill me.
You will slice yourself to ribbons to quiet me.
You will lash out because maybe that may appease me.
You will wish for release from this mortal coil to escape me.
You will run from me.
And you will always fail.
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Literature
Views III
.:White in:.
View: Close up on a slack mouth, softly feminine and young. Blood stains smeared on pale skin. White-pink lips.
There is the sound of movement. Into frame, a masculine hand smoothes over the ruddy flesh. A male chin, dark with stubble. Heavy breathing. Eager tongue licking tentative lips that follow, sweeping slowly over her slack mouth.
He holds his breath.
His kiss is calm but insisting. Lingering. A soft moan thrums in his throat as he breathes warmth against her cheek.
There is no reciprocation.
The girl is still unconscious.
~
Trevor stays, trying to imprint the feel of her lips against his into his mind. Feels the danger of this single movement crawl across his skin. Tastes faintly of blood. Knows she must taste of sweeter things. Wants to feel her move beneath him. Wants her touch.
His eyes open slowly as he breaks contact and licks his lips again. He swallows hard, his breathing a bit unsteady. Darkened eyes peer at the girl in a moment of pure wanton desperation.
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Literature
Views part II
View: A glinting pool of black unfathomable depth. A temperate burgundy-auburn iris, lacking any imperfection, encircles it. Pulling back; two eyes matching in color, the whites mapped with tiny red lines of sleepless irritation. A hard, cold and severe glare beneath thick, dark brows. Three small short scars diagonal at the edge of one brow. Lids blinking quickly. 
In the light of a setting sun skyline the color of a blood orange, the thin flesh frame about these eyes speak of raw focus, definitive purpose, and absolute abhorrence. Further out the view pans, pronouncing a man’s countenance. Two days unshaven. Jaw muscles working, rolling evenly beneath smooth skin, cheekbones distinguished in the tension. Discontent and contempt written on a long thin face. 
This man breathes like a marksman, calculated and equal. His heartbeat level in his throat. 
The view pulls out to show in his entirety a tall, solid lean, pallid man in jeans and t-shirt, dusty black work boo
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Literature
desperate
now do you see what you mean to me
i would fall off the edge of the world just to catch your eye
i would stand on desert sands holding lava in the palm of my hand
to ignite your corona
carbon marks my name in your throat
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Literature
circumvent
abuse the soul to challenge the mind to reap the reward that wills the hand to abuse.
pure quackery.
look like a confused dog at you;
panic looks different in everyone.
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Literature
View.I
VIEWS
Fade in from black.
View: in shadow, beneath a table in a small trailer home. A teenage girl’s profile in silhouette, slack, prone on the floor. There is an air of something wrong. Muffled noise. Something flies across, beyond the girl.
In the background, a pair of heavy, black dust-laden boots pass by in determined haste. There is a deafening din of violence; glass and crockery exploding against walls and the floor, sounds of struggle, climaxing in a guttural howl.
Then, silence. Stillness. The dust settles.
The boots return, slowly, pausing in the background, vaguely labored breathing from above. Droplets of something red hit the floor about the boots. There is movement above. Wetness glints darkly as one boot turns out.
A male face, long and stubbly peers carefully beneath the table. The whites of wild eyes burn brightly in the dark. His jaw rolls open. He reaches out and under, grasps a limb and drags the girl out.
In the light, a blood trickle glints from her nose. The
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Literature
sleepwalking thru fall
the area i tried to compromise
the sunset has left me blind
i don't worry i don't worry
i don't worry about how much i worry
spend all time behind movie screens
seeing movement as raindancing
i've never i've never
i've never seen this place before now
watching nervous fingertips
skilled across satin necks
i don't think i've got this right at all
sleepwalking thu fall
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Mature content
port of los angeles :iconrunnrabbitrunn:RUNNrabbitRUNN 2 10
Literature
8Ball
He exists somewhere along K Street and Elm.
A strange ghost with absolute and feral eyes. He is emaciated thin. Hollow. Gaunt. White, waxy pallid. Dirty blond in an impervious and meticulous spiked wave across the top of his skull. Shrouded in discarded black denim, arms  bare, jacket-vest open exposing a strip of concave, smooth, particularly sallow torso. Boots black and thick. About his neck found, shiny trinkets on a length of dog chain locked there forever with a tempered steel Masterlock with no key.
A frightening and weird dog in a cold, unstable, dilapidated city.
Echoing an undomesticated animal with a white-blue sunken stare a thousand miles far and wide, he appears out of place and out of step with all else around him. He commands it like a Viking.
He is unreadable. Shows no sign of anything representing cultured and moral humanity. He is a compressed wolf, super-focused, ultra-quiet. Contained, maniacal derangement.
There have been old women from the Old Country,
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Literature
Orbital temple
It was quiet perfection.
Inventory but passionate.
Warm skin.
Soft breath.
Gentle touch.
Echo.
i felt his orbital bone.
i’m certain he felt temple
to Temple.
opened my eyes. oh so
too close, but clear.
a clear Blue iris begged.
pupil enlarged, begging, pleading.
unflinching,
His eye,
His eyes implore me.

and

He impresses with deep blue ocean
eyes as navy eves in the midnight dark.
evergreen ivy pulling me down down
down to the ground
at night,...
black pools in asphalt vacant,
following the rain down down
down into the streams,
into rivers and
into oceans
mocking His color.
how i wish i knew the taste of Your thoughts,
so sweet like brandy-warmth.
my only weakness is Your sight.
my cast of characters ache for me, said.
my cast of muse and blood tumble the sky and sea, said.
destruction at it’s finest will wring from me sweet surrender, said
the bastard
beauty
muse.
had You been there,
had You been real,
You would’ve witnessed my ruin.
and thus been c
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Favourites

Literature
The Sleeper.
The twinkling lights of the city gives way, as the dawn begins to creep up around the edges of the horizon. Stars dim, drowned out by purple and mauve hues, slashed through with deepening orange that turns tangerine and gold, with the rising sun. Its arrival sending the night time creatures scurrying for cover. They scamper like frightened mice into the shadows and creep down lonely alleyways, seeking the shelter of their homes and beds, to sleep until the blanket of night is cast over the city again and they can return to their trade. Almost as if terrified that if they're transfixed by the sun it will warm their blood, reminding them of their human roots and snatching them away from the trap of nocturnal living.
Soon the streets will once again be cluttered. The arteries of the city clogged with an abundance of fat, wheeled insects. Yellow coats with distinctive black checks bisecting their sides, zipping in and out of any available gap, as they stop and start by order, collecting ya
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Journal
recently written to a friend:
to my friend, who is very concerned about
their friend, who has lost control - 
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
a theory of mind is becoming more recognized,
as feelings being the END product of a brain
process or function.  one exhibits the symptoms
BEFORE the mind even recognizes an emotion
has been engaged.
[i theorize this may be part of the process of
bipolarism.  the combos of drugs taken are
to alleviate the incorrect arousal of emotion -
successfully, in the right mixes.]
note:  emotions and feelings are not the same.
emotions - happiness, sadness, anger, love,
fear, anticipation, and so on.
feelings - are what arise in the conscious, AFTER,
the emotion[s] begin to be recognized.
imagine being overpowered by emotions, and
having no idea what they arise from.  once in
a while is one thing.  i think this happens to
everyone occasionally.  but, what if it happens
all the time?  how does one make it stop?
added today:
[some individuals for reli
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Princess by wlop Princess :iconwlop:wlop 20,862 524
Journal
hey everyone - check this out...
and help me ask for more:
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Five nights with Trevor by Rokatinsky Five nights with Trevor :iconrokatinsky:Rokatinsky 4,465 610 Miniature Downy Woodpecker Pair * Handmade * by ReveMiniatures Miniature Downy Woodpecker Pair * Handmade * :iconreveminiatures:ReveMiniatures 347 74 GoPink!  * Handmade Miniature Cat * by ReveMiniatures GoPink! * Handmade Miniature Cat * :iconreveminiatures:ReveMiniatures 734 133
Literature
Way Back Then
Remember when
your older sibling
was your superhero?
When all you did
to get ready for school
was eat a bowl of cereal,
no make-up involved,
and the only gossip you would hear
would be about
how Johnny broke his arm,
from climbing that big oak tree
in the school yard.
Remember when the basement
would be a dark chasm,
home to demons of horror?
(Well it still sorta is...)
When the biggest problem you had
was forgetting how to tie your shoes,
and all you had to worry about
was being able to remember
the way home?
Yeah,
I miss that too.
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Stalker by moppaa Stalker :iconmoppaa:moppaa 297 22 Cat carrying Kitten Handmade Sculpture by ReveMiniatures Cat carrying Kitten Handmade Sculpture :iconreveminiatures:ReveMiniatures 406 56 Shadowbolt Rainbowdash Custom Plush by Nazegoreng Shadowbolt Rainbowdash Custom Plush :iconnazegoreng:Nazegoreng 840 155 Miniature Cat * Handmade Sculpture * by ReveMiniatures Miniature Cat * Handmade Sculpture * :iconreveminiatures:ReveMiniatures 123 19 Miniature Calico Kitten * Handmade Sculpture * by ReveMiniatures Miniature Calico Kitten * Handmade Sculpture * :iconreveminiatures:ReveMiniatures 165 39 I don't know by TylerReitan I don't know :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 27 27 4.5 Billion years in the palm of your hands! by TylerReitan 4.5 Billion years in the palm of your hands! :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 133 53 Sentience by TylerReitan Sentience :icontylerreitan:TylerReitan 773 138

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Michael Hubbard rip my friend by RUNNrabbitRUNN it is with deep regret I announce the passing of Michael L. Hubbard aka  MHubbardSanDiego as he has passed away January 27th 2015. Michael, you were loyal, sympathetic, empathetic, kind, and wondrous. I miss you dearly, every day of my life. every Zep song is played for you. and many a sconscie has been tipped to you, within the Dance of the Dead....
....
....
...you are loved.
...and you are dearly missed.
  • Listening to: iron maiden/dire straits
  • Reading: idoru William Gibson
  • Watching: Breaking Bad
  • Playing: memory
  • Drinking: sconscies of the Bastard varity

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RUNNrabbitRUNN
rabbit
United States

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:iconwingdiamond:
WingDiamond Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
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Destroyer77 Featured By Owner Jun 1, 2017
Happy Birthday!

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:iconwingdiamond:
WingDiamond Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2016  Hobbyist General Artist
:cake:
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:icondestroyer77:
Destroyer77 Featured By Owner Jun 1, 2016
Happy Birthday!

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:iconwingdiamond:
WingDiamond Featured By Owner Jun 2, 2015  Hobbyist General Artist
Scream For me Rabbit! :cake:
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